


A Good Servicing

by dirtylittlegreasemonkey



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:52:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9589580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtylittlegreasemonkey/pseuds/dirtylittlegreasemonkey
Summary: AU. Aaron's on his third call out of the day to fix another boiler and it just so happens the latest customer is a smarmy businessman. A smarmy businessman with a great body and a distracting habit of flirting. You can guess what happens next...





	

**Author's Note:**

> For Lo, (@bartsugsy) for the inspiration and the egging on to get this write. It's not quite the cheesy trash porn but it is basically porn without plot so...(please forgive my hideous lack of boiler knowledge).

The third call out of the morning. On his supposed day off. What’s made it even worse is that last night was a late one, not too much beer that he’d be over the limit today but enough that his head is slightly groggy, like someone’s padded it with cotton wool. And Cain’s directions are no good, his Sat-Nav’s on the blink and the last customer tried to drape herself over his shoulder while he was checking the boiler’s pilot light, when she was wearing a thin and lacy robe. _Only_ a thin and lacy robe. She was as old as his mum, if not older, and Aaron was pretty sure he saw a wedding ring. He’s still getting shivers now thinking of her husky voice in his ear as she told him how handsome he was.

Cain had promised him, when he’d had the idea for a private boiler engineer service, that if he agreed to some part time work that he wouldn’t get any of this weird sort of attention. It had been bad enough working in the garage and having a woman positioning herself as damsel in distress and fluttering the eyelashes for a discount. They’d all ribbed him about it, telling her she was barking up the wrong tree with him but it was funny how blokes never tried it on. Not that _he’d_ wondered that. Just Debbie one day when they were closing up. _Still,_ she’d said, _the whole gruff grumpy thing you’ve got going on isn’t exactly an invitation, is it?_ What she really meant was that he wasn’t exactly advertising himself as gay and single. And if he wasn’t interested, he kept it to himself, a subtle look up and down and a bitten away smile. He was hardly going to hand out his number to a bloke who might actually be straight in the centre of the family business where they’d all be clucking around him and talking about buying wedding hats. No chance.  

Not that he was sure how he’d handle it even if a bloke had come onto him in the garage – signals weren’t exactly his strong point. Probably why he ended up with a middle-aged woman pressing herself against him and suggesting he have a look upstairs to really get those issues sorted earlier that morning.

Having found a place to park and walked in the drizzle, he arrives at the guy’s doorstep at 10:17 – seventeen minutes after Cain had promised, but not the latest he’d ever been. He would’ve been quicker too had it not been for some jerk cutting him up and stealing the parking space he’d eyed up. Wanker (he got the hand signal and the insult called out to him). He uses the knocker on the door first, glossed and shiny. This guy isn’t short of a bob or two but Aaron can’t for the life of him remember the customer’s name. The phone signal was shitty when Cain rang. Not that it matters much, Aaron isn’t one for conversation in the customer’s house. In, do the job, out. Done. No small talk if he can help it. After a loud bash of the knocker, Aaron spots a doorbell too so jams his finger against the button until it feels as if the whole building is going to vibrate with the buzz of it.

Five minutes later after he’s been standing there in the cold, crawling right under his overalls and making his skin sting, the door is wrenched open. The man’s tall, blond although it’s damp and dark at the ends from a presumably failed attempt at a shower and despite the sternness giving his brow a groove at the centre of his eyebrows, his attractiveness throws Aaron off guard. He swallows, gaze briefly removed then replaced, unhelpfully noticing that the man’s belt is half unlaced and a hastily thrown-on t-shirt fits him snug across the chest. His boiler’s broken – obviously – and he’s suffered a cold shower, no heating. And Aaron has to tear his gaze away. The guy’s nipples are visible and hard through his t-shirt.

Fuck and fuck and fuck.

“You’re late.” He checks his watch with exaggerated effect, shattering all any fantasies Aaron had in that half-second introduction. He’d imagined a smile. White teeth, round cheeks. Shivering bodies made warm. No talk. He liked it best that way. The guy had a good body – that would have been enough to forgo any conversation.

Aaron can’t help himself. He scoffs in response.

“You’re rude. Do you want your boiler looked at or not?”

“This how you treat all your paying customers, is it?”

“You haven’t paid yet,” Aaron says, correcting him, watching the man thrust his hands into his pockets and pushing out his hips like he’s cock of the walk. Cock of the something, anyway.

The guy pins him with a look and it’s almost as if something resembling amusement washes over his eyes. “If you do a good enough job, we’ll see, won’t we? First impressions aren’t exactly filling me with hope.” Aaron watches as his eyes drift down and stop on his chest. The ID badge. A must apparently, in case any old dears think they’re being scammed (something Cain saw on _Rogue Traders_ ).

“Really? Your name’s actually ‘Dingle’?”

It’s in the company name, the logo and on their website – you’d think it would be an obvious fact. But Aaron doesn’t say that, keeps the eye roll locked in his head.

“Aaron.”

“Robert.” He doesn’t offer his hand to shake, although he looks the sort that usually would, just probably not to trade or servicemen. Beneath him probably.

“You want me to take a look, or…?”

“That’s the general idea,” Robert says, and begrudgingly steps back to let Aaron in.

He wipes his boots on the mat and gives them a little shake. He kinda expected this Robert guy to be the sort of person to have one of those motivational quote mats, but it becomes apparent as he enters the house that this place is all about clean lines, muted colours and modern everything. It’s the type of show house you’d see in a leaflet or one of those celebrity homes you see in OK Magazine where they interview soapstars about popping out a new sprog. He sees Robert stare at his feet and wonders if he should offer to take his boots off, but he doesn’t – knowing that’s exactly what he wants. There’s a new sport in pissing off this guy. Sure, he’ll leave them a shitty review on their Facebook page but it’ll be worth it. _1 Star – engineer was a sullen, uncouth amateur, would not recommend to anyone but thieves and fellow chavs._

“Through here,” Robert says, leading the way through the house and into a super-clean open-plan kitchen. Aaron feels a little knot of jealousy and admiration about the place. It’s a bit too sleek and cold for his taste but he’ll admit, Robert has style. It seems like he lives alone. There’s no sign anywhere of household clutter, nothing obviously feminine and no family junk. Aaron’s eyes look for a wedding band and find none. It’s not that he cares, he just likes to try and suss out the customers from their possessions. If the kitchen and the location of the house wasn’t a clue enough, the guy even smells expensive and there’s a set of Porsche keys on the counter top.

Robert must see him look and grins. “My pride and joy,” he says and then pockets them as if Aaron’s about to nick his car as soon as his back’s turned. This is about the point where customers usually offer him a drink but so far it’s nil-by-mouth from Robert. He wonders what his small talk would be like and – the biggest test of all, what his brew’s like.

“So what’s the problem with it?” Aaron says, when Robert’s lead him to the boiler and stood in front of it, brow crease thicker like the boiler will respond to his glare.

“You’re the expert, aren’t you?”

“I mean, give me the background. When did it happen? Are you getting anything – any hot water? Any radiators working?”

“Does it look like it?” Robert says, gesturing with his arms. Aaron sees his skin up close, freckles and goosebumps, golden hair rising on his pale arms. Robert pulls on a jumper that’s swaddled over the back of one of the breakfast-bar stools. Even after he’s rearranged the jumper, it still spreads tightly across his back and chest. His body is better than his attitude. It’s a compromise.

“I woke up this morning to a flipping Arctic chill upstairs, jumped in the shower and nearly froze to death,” he says – and Aaron wants to make some comment about Robert’s bravery in the face of such adverse living condition but he manages to keep it shut – “and I’ve got a business dinner tonight and I can hardly go to that when I can’t even have a proper shower.”

 _Ooh a business dinner_. His sarcasm is in overdrive and instead of that slipping out, he feels it escape in a smirk.

“Something funny?” Robert says.

“No, erm. No.” He clears his throat.

“So can I trust you to get on with this by yourself or do you need your hand holding?”

“I think I can cope,” Aaron says, dryly. “Can you show me your thermostat and where you keep your water tank?”

*

The first twenty minutes Aaron spends getting to grips with the boiler’s unusual system of warning lights and the manual isn’t helping. He rings Cain half way through and describes the set-up in detail. Why this guy hasn’t got a flash new system installed, one that can be controlled with a phone app or a wireless handset he doesn’t know. It’s an antique and it’s going to need a new part. He has the part he needs in the van, he just needs a guarantee from Robert that’ll he cough-up the money for it. Cain has a thing about time wasters.

He tinkers away for a while, cleaning out the system and checking the connectors for any damage. The service menu is not the sort he used to and he leans over the kitchen counter, manual spread out in front of him, chin in his hand trying to reset the system. There looks to be some long-term use damage but nothing a bit of a clean-up won’t fix. He’ll need a whole new boiler in about two months, but he probably doesn’t want to hear that. By the sounds of Robert he just likes obedience, people who tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

As Aaron works, he can hear Robert on the phone. He’s only a few rooms away but the boom of his voice carries as he berates a client. There’s an arrogance in his demands and Aaron roleplays what he’d answer back with if he was on the other end of the phone. He wonders if this Robert guy really thinks he’s intimidating, even if he’s nothing but a pretty face and dismissive scowl. And a good body.

Which is something Aaron definitely needs to stop fixating on. He guesses the padded-fuzzy head and a night of beer and boredom is just making his appetite for a sex a little bit more intense. And the antagonism has its appeal. Before Aaron goes to change the broken flue outlet, he crouches to the tiled kitchen floor and opens up his tool box. The satisfying creak and clang of metal makes him long for the familiarity of the garage – an environment of grease and testosterone which has come to feel like home. He knows he’ll need a particular array of spanners but he last time he packed it, he was lazy and nothing is now where it should be.

“How are you getting on?” Robert says, appearing in the doorway. He’s wandered in and out a few times – observing, being nosy. The authority in his voice has gone and he leans up against the doorframe looking slimmer and taller than he did before.

“Alright,” Aaron says. “Shouldn’t be much longer once I’ve replaced your part. Just need you to sign an agreement form.”

“When you say ‘much longer’?”

“I mean you’ll be getting rid of me before lunchtime.”

“Where do I sign?” Robert smirks. And there’s a flash of the fantasy smile there – the white teeth, the rounded cheeks. There’s a dark sort of glint on the surface of his green eyes.

Aaron gathers the papers from the floor, where they’ve sat in another kit back. His filing system leaves a lot to be desired. The house is oddly still sounding without the grumbles of a working boiler. He can hear his own breath, the scuff of his boots on the floor. Feels Robert watching him.

“This a full time gig is it?”

“No,” Aaron says. “I’m a mechanic.”

“So this is just a side project then?”

“Something like that.”

There’s another beat of silence between them which extends into Aaron’s fumbled fingers trying to locate the correct paperwork. There are different colours, different sheets, for when a bill is going to be more than the initial call-out agreement fee.

“I suppose it’s easier with cars,” Robert says. “The customers leave you to it.”

“Yeah. They don’t tend to hang around for the conversation.”

The smirk again. He leans into the room a little more, folding his arms, making them look more muscular. Maybe he gets off on this, intimidation techniques. He hands Robert the form to sign and realises this must be another of his techniques – the prolonged eye contact as he signs a contract. Aaron reckons this is how businessmen like him work. Charmed threats hoping to unravel their opponent.

“So now what?” Robert says, clicking the pen and handing it back.

“I’ll replace your cracked flue outlet, re-pressurise the system and make sure everything’s up and running. I’ll need to check the radiators and the water upstairs.”

“I’ll let you get on with it then,” he says.

Aaron’s skin prickles as Robert leaves the room and heads upstairs. No, Aaron’s no good at picking up on subtle signals. But he knows what that was and it wasn’t subtle. Robert’s eyes tracked over him, gaze grazing, lingering on the unbuttoned poppers of his overalls on the neck, the way it’s rolled up to his elbows.

*

Thirty minutes later, outlet replaced, the pressure rebalanced and the boiler reset, the system is refired and ready to go. Aaron heads upstairs to check the water tank is heating up and that the water is beginning to run warm.

The upstairs of the house is just as grand as the downstairs, everything chosen to fit a colour scheme and nothing out of place. The hallway is like what Aaron imagines a modern art gallery to be – three framed black and white photos and nothing else cluttering the surfaces. Not like the pub at all, not with magazines and mugs left on every available table. As Aaron tries to locate the bathroom (a process which always makes him feel like a thief in someone else’s house) he sees a door ajar a slither of the room behind. He edges closer and sees a room slightly messier than the rest of the house. Shelves of books, a few clothes tossed around, a shelf of what looks like toys and knick knacks. And then his breath catches and he steps back like he’s been set alight. Through that small window of light where the door has been left slightly open, Robert walked into view. Aaron’s throat squeezes tight and his brain whirls into the processing of what he’d seen. Robert had stood, his back to the door, for a few seconds in Aaron’s eyeline and without a shred of clothes on.

Aaron berates himself for being up there without announcing himself first, for looking, for lingering. But now he’s in the hallway scared of making any floorboards creak and all he can think about is the sight of Robert’s naked body as he stood, pulling on a pair of briefs. He’s hot, dry-mouthed, fingertips trembling. He barely makes it into the bathroom where the water tank is. His feet are like lead walking across glass. His breath sounds like a loud alarm in the air. Every nerve is tingling, a chill on the back of his neck. It’s all imprinted in his head, the solid flesh of him, the colour, the smoothness of his skin. Muscles, faint hair. Broad shoulder blades. The perfect round of his arse.

There’s a bath ahead of him, pure white and pristine. It’s cool against his burning pulse. The tank hums and Aaron can just about feel the warmth coming through the taps. He catches sight of himself in a mirror by the bath – (just how much of a voyeur is this man to have a mirror by the bath?) – and sees what he looks like, bent over and flushed in the face. He looks like a mess. Hot, shaken, desperate.

“Are you any good at fashion?” he hears Robert say, his voice carrying down the hallway and into the bathroom. Aaron’s heart is hammering over the thrum of running water. There’s a smirk in the tone of the voice too. The man’s a walking smirk.

He sidles up to the doorway again and Aaron can make eye contact with him through the mirror. How long had he known Aaron was upstairs? Long enough to know the door was open when he was naked.

“Only, I can’t make a decision about what to wear to the dinner tonight,” Robert continues. He’s stopped making eye contact with Aaron now, focused on his posture, his position over the bath. It’s not even unsubtle anymore, it’s leering. Aaron looks at him in the mirror again and he comes into focus.  

Aaron braces his hands on the lip of the bath and stands, the heat from his collarbones mapping upwards. Robert’s facing him, a white shirt on – unbuttoned – over suit trousers, open at the top. The band of his underwear is visible and the tails of two ties graze his legs as he holds them in his fists. A blue one, a maroon one.

Robert’s eyes look darker in this light, making Aaron feel exposed, dizzyheaded. He smiles at the side, one corner lifting.

“You must have an opinion?”

Aaron pulls his gaze away, nervously hitching up the sleeves of his overalls, his hands shaking as they pass his elbows. He does a half-shrug, mouth and shoulders jerking upwards.

“Fashion’s not really my…”

He loses his words. They fall like the stream of warming water into the bath and swirl down the plughole. Robert steps past the threshold and the movement of his hips ripples the fabric around his groin. Aaron resists the gravity that tries to take his glance there. Of course he’ll be hard, the arrogance in the movement alone must be enough to make him hard. That was the whole point of the bedroom display wasn’t it? A tease, an illicit glimpse of his flesh. He was meant to be showering before he went to the meeting and now he’s playing dress up like they’re in some role play – he’s the suited businessman in charge with the gruff tradesman at his mercy. Aaron traces back over the hour he’s spent there in the house – the signs, the glances, the intensity, the lingering silence. The way Robert looked at him when they finally entered the house and he got to work, the look Aaron tried to ignore because the smugness was making Robert irritating to him.

He grins. Self-satisfied. Loaded with everything Aaron is drummed with. Power. Hunger. The rest.

“So…your area of expertise is…the physical? Tools? Hands?”

Aaron swallows, avoids the heat of Robert’s gaze by looking away. Somehow he’s found himself edging backwards, up against the sink, pressed against the cool ceramic.

“I ‘spose.”

Robert licks his lower lip. Bright red. Aaron aches for it. Between his. On his skin. Everywhere. Anywhere.

Robert laughs for a second – almost bashful, as if he ever could be that. “Are you…are you not into this?”

“Into what?”

Aaron knows there’s a defiance in his eyes, a game, a tease. And Robert accepts the play and the challenge. Feeds on it as much as Aaron does – Aaron can tell by the way he moves now, further into the room and drops the ties on the floor, all pretence gone.

“You know what,” he says, voice like the dark surrounding a flickering flame.

“It’s all up and running,” Aaron says, unable to look at Robert. He doesn’t want to escape this, but his nerves gabble away from him. “The boiler is fixed and…”

“You sure?” Robert’s in his space now, all concept of barriers lost. He lays a fingerprint on the deep V where the first popper on Aaron’s overalls begin. He flicks it open with deft movement of his fingers, smirk unshifting.

“Sure.” His voice barely wobbles.

The second. Third. Forth popper unfastens. He has his hands on the overalls now and each opening pulls apart with a click.

“Good,” Robert says. “As long as you’re sure…”

And then he’s on his knees, nudging up Aaron’s black t-shirt with his nose and burying his mouth along the skin there. Aaron’s hands still grip around the sink basin unable to process what’s happening. Robert kisses a wet line above the edge of Aaron’s jeans and rolls the overalls down his hips, the rest of the blue uniform, slipping down his back and shoulders.

“You want me to?” Robert says, though his hands are already opening Aaron’s jeans and Aaron’s already offering himself up, pelvis pushed forward and eyes wide and urging. _Yes, fuck yes_.

Robert’s satisfied with what he finds, if the grin is anything to go by. Aaron loses sight of him for a second – his head spins back like it’s made of a metal he can’t control the weight of – when Robert takes hold of his cock and runs his thumb across the head like he’s practised this moment from that very first second on the doorstep. Like he can read minds and knows exactly, precisely – _fuck_ – definitely what Aaron likes and needs.

He shuffles forward on his knees, the bare white of them like marble on the bathroom floor and lowers his mouth to hum across the tip. Their hands have barely touched each other, their lips and tongues have never met, but now this near-stranger is playing a wet rhythm of lips and mouth and all that is holy against Aaron’s cock.

The crown of his head is the closest thing to golden Aaron’s ever seen and he wants to touch, wants to press his fingers against Robert’s scalp and pull at the ends of his hair. He wants to be on the edge with him. But he’s too afraid to break the moment, that Robert might flinch and deny him the warmth of his mouth that he holds back, slumps against the sink and only exhales when finally _finally_ Robert has taken all of him into the heat between his lips.

His head moves and it’s a blur. A rush of blood and lust and the whole room burning around him. Robert’s tongue is lithe, his mouth unforgiving and Aaron has never needed to come so fast in his life. He swears under his breath and feels the push and pull of his hips and Robert’s hands, the strangled moan trapped in Robert’s throat. Only once, but for one quaking minute, do his eyes look up and meet Aaron. They’re almost singing. Lottery winning eyes as Aaron’s fucks his mouth with an uneven pulse he can’t control. Coming doesn’t feel like a relief, it feels like the start of a freefall where a landing is impossible. His vision is black. White. Black again. And he threads his fingers through the roughed up front of Robert’s hair and watching his mouth slacken and throat swallow. Too good. Too good to do anything but release the caged groan he’d held in his chest and let Robert slump against him too when he’s finally on his feet.

Their breaths rake against each other and Robert’s bitter mouth finds his, lazy lips and a tongue that still tastes of him. Aaron finds a fierceness in it – a longing. It feels so good to be so wanted. To feel Robert’s almost naked body firm against him.

“Bedroom,” he says, winding his mouth against Aaron’s ear and pressing their groins together.

And he lets himself be led, lets himself fully see Robert’s body when he reveals it, peels down his underwear and sits on the edge of the bed. Aaron shrugs off the overalls from his torso and pulls off his t-shirt, stopping only when Robert says _Leave the rest…I’ve always wanted…_ and then stops himself short with a grin again. Aaron can guess the rest. The fantasy. He keeps his overalls on, just shoved out the way, past his hips and without question or hesitation arches over the bed, only hearing, glimpsing the rest of the movement before he has Robert’s fingers rubbing lube against his opening.

His teeth grip the bedsheets and it’s a mix of breath, heartbeat, breath and then that spike – that adjustment and that pleasure that rips through his entire body.

That new boiler won’t wait two months.

It won’t even wait two weeks.

Even if he has to sabotage the system on the way out of the house.

*

_Robert rolls onto his back and then plays with the popper fastening on Aaron’s chest before smudging the cum marks on the blue fabric. He can hear Chas downstairs ringing the bell for last orders. They’re lucky it was a busy night and the pub was rammed. No one could hear what was happening behind closed doors._

_Aaron sighs. “I’m gonna have to wash this without anyone noticing.”_

_Robert laughs. “Why?”_

_“I haven’t worn them in years. It’s going to look a bit weird.”_

_“Say you fancied wearing them for old time’s sake,” Robert says, moving to tickle Aaron’s middle. “What?! It’s half true.”_

_“Oh yeah, I’ll just tell them the truth, shall I? Robert likes me dressing up and acting out his dirty fantasies.”_

_“Oh and you’re Mr Innocent, I suppose.”_

_“Never said that.”_

_“I just thought it would be a bit of fun…” Robert says, his hand wandering back down south. “It was fun…”_

_“Yeah you’re really good at playing a smarmy dickhead.”_

_“Yeah? And you’re good at playing the grumpy bastard.”_

_Aaron tuts, rolling his eyes and then relents as Robert moves closer, nudging their mouths together. “Love you,” Robert says, then smiling adds: “You can come and fix my boiler anytime.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the slight - "it was all a roleplay" type situation at the end. If not, well, just ignore the bit in italics ;)


End file.
